Sanity
by Calm77
Summary: Sometimes being completely sane be a disadvantage.A collection of Vincentcentric drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

_Sanity_

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Drop any preconcieved angst at the door. Now. And please review!!

Things are easier to notice for one who has experience looking. It takes one to know one, or so some say. The experienced can see things which would never occur to the novice, things they _could_ never know to look for because they simply _could_ not understand the importance.

Vincent had been a Turk for a reason. He had never put much faith in people, never believed in the pithy phrases they spouted.

"Takes one to know one." What drivel he had considered it.

Only now was he finally beginning to understand.

Long ago, before death and experimentation had changed him, Vincent Valentine had been sane. He had been like many others, unprepared and shocked when Hojo's insanity finally showed itself. It would have been impossible for him to see the slight cracks in the shell of Hojo's sanity, for his own sanity had none. Vincent simply wouldn't have known the signs to look for.

Time had changed that. He heard voices, perhaps those of the monsters dwelling within him.

But perhaps not.

He never knew which. Now he no longer cared. Maybe death had affected his mind, maybe the experiments had cracked the shell of his sanity. No one knew for sure.

But the fact remained that Vincent Valentine had been warped.

As others had before him, and at least one after him, Vincent's mind had latched on to the one person, the one thing most important to him. All else had been pushed aside, becoming trivial. Only Lucrecia Cresent, remained important. All him emotions were connected to her.

The hatred of Hojo was largely from his dealings with her, his guilt only for her, his despair only from her, and his attachment to Sephiroth only because of her. The world had value because _she_ had loved it.

The others knew Vincent wasn't sane, but perhaps only Cloud knew the extent. The man had suffered much as he had, he was one of the experienced. And he understood the guilt, the knowledge that one's complete normality, one's _complete sanity_ had led to the tragedy because one did not know what signs to look for. Did not know the vital importance of some of those insignificant signs.

One could not fight an enemy one does not know exists.

So Vincent mourned, and he considered. He wondered if Cloud had the same thoughts at night. He wondered if either of them wished they had been _less_ sane back when it _mattered_. When they could have _seen_.

And he wondered what would have happened if at least one of them had.

_The End._


	2. More than Guilt

_More than Guilt_

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I've kinda decided to sort my drabbles by character from now on, so this is another Vincent-centric drabble. He needs some complexity.

It's a commonly known cliché – guilt is heavy. A burden one cannot escape from, eventually dragging down even the most buoyant of the souls in its grip.

But if guilt is heavy, then a rage one cannot express is heavier. An emotion which _must_ remain hidden is a secret which brings guilt with it. It becomes a twofold burden, the combined weight of both emotions far stronger than one alone.

The world thought Vincent Valentine hid out of guilt. His brooding silences and general gloom caused by his 'failure'.

It was what he preferred them to believe.

Chivalry would allow no less.

It wasn't _noble_ for a knight to hold a grudge against his lady, to be angry at her fickleness. It wasn't _noble_ for him to be enraged at her having another lord. Knights loved their ladies from afar, never actually possessing her but doing her will regardless. Such were the laws of chivalry.

It made Vincent Valentine angry.

He wasn't some automaton, some plaything that slavishly complied with _any_ whim. He had his own hopes, dreams, and wants. Everyone did.

But it wasn't _chivalrous _to have such wants, it wasn't allowed. Not as Vincent saw it. So he buried his anger, his resentment. But it never went away.

Things must come out, _will _find a way to. It takes a huge amount of energy to keep such things hidden.

But Vincent _needed_ those emotions to disappear, his code didn't allow for them. They didn't fit in his world. He didn't _want _them.

So he showed his guilt, tried to portray it in the noblest light possible. _He _was to blame, _he _had failed her. Had allowed emotion to get the better of him.

The world would never know he suffered from rage as much as guilt. Would never see his anger at Lucrecia Cresent, who - in his blackest moments he thought - _deserved_ her fate.

But he was still bound by his code, would still love her from afar.

Even if that love was tainted. Even if his rage was stronger than his love at times.

But then, he would be the only one to know that, wouldn't he? That made it alright.

Didn't it?

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